


trying is the fun part

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Series: yule gift fics [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (mild), (minor) - Freeform, Background Yenralt, Background geraskefer, Banter, Bondage, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Cuckolding, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Humiliation, Implied Geraskefer, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Muzzle Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27851090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: “Are we fucking or not, bard?”Even already having heard the question, if Jaskier had been drinking something just now, he’d have choked. All the same, his breath stutters for a moment before he can master himself.“Yes,” he finally says. “Yes, lets.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: yule gift fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038730
Comments: 20
Kudos: 178





	trying is the fun part

**Author's Note:**

> second yule fic, since today is the second!
> 
> you know what you did, you friggin menace. never mind the OTHER docs i have open. i'm squinting at you real hard.
> 
> also i promise you geralt is having the time of his life.

Yennefer is not exactly known for her subtlety, Jaskier will admit, but even still this seems a little…forward.

“It’s a yes or no question, bard.”

Jaskier blinks. “I – Geralt?”

The Witcher shrugs, which inspires exactly _no_ confidence, and Jaskier throws his hands up. “I feel like this is some kind of trap, if I’m honest.”

Yennefer snorts. “It’s not. You’re obnoxious and a thorn in the side, but you’re also pretty and – if the rumors hold true – good in bed. And, he likes you.” She gestures to Geralt, who frowns but doesn’t deny it.

“Besides,” she continues, rising from her perch on the arm of a chair and sweeping toward him. He freezes, feeling very much like a prey animal, and she smirks. Her hand comes up to rest on his chest, just over where his heart is making a valiant attempt at freedom. “Are you really saying you’ve never thought about it? About _us?_ ”

Her fingers dance up his collar, to his throat, a light, tickling caress that has him swallowing audibly.

“I – you,” he stammers for a moment, “I’m – _yes,_ you obviously know the answer to that.”

“Mhm, I do,” Yennefer is still smirking, but it softens a little as she drags the pads of her fingers along the corner of Jaskier’s jaw. “You have an active imagination, certainly.”

Jaskier shudders. “I – _fuck._ ”

“So,” she finally steps away from him, back toward Geralt, who melts into her touch even easier than Jaskier had. “Are we fucking or not, bard?”

Even already having heard the question, if Jaskier had been drinking something just now, he’d have choked. All the same, his breath stutters for a moment before he can master himself.

“Yes,” he finally says. “Yes, lets.”

* * *

Jaskier thinks that honestly, the weirdest part of this – besides, well, _all of it_ – is how easily Geralt yields to Yennefer. It’s almost like an out-of-body experience, watching the way the Witcher reacts to her, _submits_ to her.

It’s mostly just really fucking hot, though.

“Strip,” Yennefer orders, and Geralt’s fingers move immediately, working through the buckles and belts and laces on his armor. Meanwhile, she turns to Jaskier with that same soft smirk from earlier. “You too, bard.”

Jaskier swallows and does as he’s told, trying to ignore the odd tremble in his fingers and the way his cock is filling rapidly. He and Geralt are naked almost in the exact same moment, and they both automatically turn back to Yennefer like flowers to the sun.

She’s still smirking. “Good,” she says. “Geralt, to the chair. Jaskier, help me with my dress.”

Geralt goes obediently to a chair set to the side of the large fourposter bed and sits. He looks stiff and uncomfortable at first glance, but after years Jaskier can read him, and that’s anticipation – the kind Jaskier usually only sees in Geralt before a hunt. The realization makes him shiver.

Yennefer turns her back to him as he approaches, one hand over her shoulder to shift her hair and tap at the top of the lacing on her dress. “Carefully,” she says, and he snorts.

“I know how to handle a fine dress,” he says, and then sets to it. The laces are small and finicky and tight, but he’s patient and his fingers are nimble – both from the lute and practice doing exactly this. As the back opens, it reveals a silky shift underneath that’s practically molded to Yennefer’s skin, and he sucks in a breath.

For a long moment, as he unlaces and then helps Yennefer push her dress down, there’s nothing but the sound of their breathing, the two of them and then Geralt’s, quieter behind them. Finally, when the dress slips to the floor, Jaskier crouches down and taps gently at Yennefer’s ankle to prompt her to step out of it. Once her legs are clear, he lifts the dress and drapes it neatly over a nearby chair.

Yennefer is looking at him almost fondly when he turns back to her. He shivers, though, and the smirk returns, but her, “Thank you, Jaskier,” is no less sincere for it. He just shivers again, and watches as she moves gracefully over to a chest at the end of the bed.

She pulls a bundle of black rope and some sort of leather contraption from its depths. Jaskier can guess what the rope is for, but he hasn’t got a clue on the leather thing. He supposes he’ll find out, though.

“Geralt,” she says, firmly, going to stand in front of him. She puts a finger under his jaw to tip his head up, and Jaskier sees the way the Witcher trembles.

“Yennefer,” he says back, and she smiles.

“So good,” she murmurs. “Arms back.”

Geralt shifts, putting his arms over the back of the chair. The position pushes his chest out, makes him shift his hips forward to be more comfortable, and Jaskier swallows hard at the sight of his erection bobbing against his thigh.

“Jaskier, grab a brush and ribbon from my vanity.”

Jaskier jolts a little, but turns and finds Yennefer’s vanity standing in the corner of the room. Once there, he grabs a fine brush and one of the many hair ribbons piled to one side, then returns to stand nearby.

“Brush his hair back and tie it up.” Yennefer instructs him as she goes gracefully to her knees, unwinding the bundle of rope just to wind it up all over again, this time around Geralt’s leg and the chair. Tying him to the chair. Jaskier gulps and has to forcibly steady his hands, but then goes behind Geralt to do as Yennefer said.

“Tip your head back,” he murmurs softly, and Geralt just does it, as if Jaskier holds the same power over him that Yennefer does. Hell, maybe he does right now. He carefully gathers Geralt’s hair and pulls it all back before he starts to brush. “Need a wash, Witcher.”

“After this,” Yennefer pipes up, and when Jaskier looks down the line of Geralt’s body, he finds she’s just finishing up securing Geralt’s legs to the chair. Geralt, for his part, shifts a little and then hums, going lax against the chair. Jaskier bites back a groan at the sight.

Tangles handled, he starts brushing Geralt’s hair back properly, until it’s all gathered in one hand. He wraps the ribbon around the bunch of it a few times and then ties it securely. It’s not horribly pretty, but it’s functional.

“Good, thank you,” Yennefer says, and Jaskier realizes for the first time that it’s praise. Real, actual praise.

He flushes. “What next?”

“Switch places with me.”

He walks back around to Geralt’s front while Yennefer takes his place behind, still with the rope. He can’t see what she’s doing from this angle, but from the way Geralt’s shoulders and chest shift, he can guess. With nothing to do for the moment, he decided to just…take it in.

Geralt’s gorgeous. Of course he is, Jaskier already _knew_ that, but this is – this is something else. The black rope contrasts sharply against his pale skin, and Yennefer behind him is another contrast. _The moon and its night,_ he thinks, suddenly, and stores the idea away for later.

“What if he needs to get out?” he asks, as the thought occurs to him. Yennefer chuckles lightly.

“Geralt?” she asks.

“Igni,” he replies, voice gone low and rougher than usual.

Jaskier frowns, not sure what that _means,_ but Yennefer gestures him closer. He circles back around to see what she wants to show, and finds Geralt’s arms bound rather prettily behind him, anchored to the chair. But his hands are free.

“Igni,” Yennefer repeats. “This knot,” she pets over it, “unravels all of the ties. He can burn the rope. The knots on his legs are the same, but once his hands are free, he can just pull at those.”

“Oh.” Something squirming inside Jaskier settles at that, and he nods before going back to where he’d been standing and admiring Geralt. Yennefer chuckles again and joins him.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” she asks, almost conspiratorially. Jaskier swallows.

“He is,” he agrees.

They stand and look for a moment more, and then Yennefer turns to grab the leather contraption. Looking closer at it doesn’t answer Jaskier’s question to what it is, though. He keep quiet and just watches as Yennefer slides between Geralt’s knees and pets his face.

The Witcher tilts his head into the touch, eyes fluttering open for the first time in a handful of minutes. Jaskier can’t help his sharp inhale. Geralt’s eyes are dark, pupils blown almost completely round, and when Yennefer trails her fingers over the Witcher’s mouth it drops open readily. Yennefer presses two fingers over his tongue. Somehow, Geralt’s pupils get wider.

“Fuck,” Jaskier mutters, and Yennefer hums.

When she pulls her fingers back, they’re slick with spit, and she reaches down to swipe over Geralt’s nipples. The Witcher moans, eyes squeezing shut again as his head falls back, and Jaskier has to grasp at the base of his cock for a moment to calm down.

“Geralt,” Yennefer repeats, and Geralt lets out a grunt.

“Yennefer,” he replies, seemingly fighting himself to lift his head again.

“Good,” she murmurs. “So good, Geralt.”

She brings the leather contraption up, and Jaskier finally realizes what it is mere seconds before she slides it onto Geralt’s face. The muzzle looks exactly like any regular muzzle four a hound would, but it’s clearly shaped for a human face – for _Geralt’s_ face, specifically. It has to have been custom made, then, and Jaskier shudders at the implications of that.

It secures around the back of Geralt’s head, and Yennefer yanks at the straps until they’re just shy of digging in to Geralt’s skin. Jaskier would worry, except he can see the way Geralt’s eyes roll and he moans, slightly muffled where the muzzle presses against his mouth.

Yennefer finishes securing the leather and leans back a little, stroking one fingertip over where the leather leaves a sliver of Geralt’s cheek exposed.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs. Geralt pants. “Now,” she continues, stepping away and turning back to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

For a moment Jaskier is confused, not sure what she could possibly mean, but then his mind catches up with him.

“Yes,” he nods, sure, and steps up into Yennefer’s space. She smiles at him, a wicked sparkle in her eyes, and drapes her arms over his shoulders, around his neck. Still a little tentative, he rests his hands at her waist, shivering at the slick feeling of the shift she’s still wearing. His hands slide down a little, petting the material and feeling the curve of her hips beneath.

The kiss starts slow, as tentative as Jaskier’s hands while they adjust to the newness – or maybe just he does – but Yennefer’s hand in his hair and the way she angles into him, pressing her covered breasts into his body, changes it quickly enough. She kisses exactly like he’d expected her to, fierce and in almost total control. His cock twitches where it’s pressed between them, and she’s smirking again when the kiss breaks.

“Excitable,” she teases, soft, and Jaskier shakes his head, ducking down to mouth at her throat.

“It’s not every day you get a fantasy handed over to you on a platter,” he murmurs, nipping softly at her earlobe and taking note of the way she shivers and lists just slightly toward him. She smells of lilac and gooseberry, as usual, but underneath it Jaskier can smell sweat and soap and the ozone bite of her magic, strong enough that it practically sizzles off her skin.

“If this is a fantasy, I’d think you would be moving a little faster,” Yennefer continues to tease. Jaskier snorts and slides his hands up her body, taking the shift with them.

“My reputation in bed didn’t come about because I rush things,” he retorts, straightening so that he can push the shift all the way up to her neck. She lifts her arms and lets him pull it off. Unlike the dress, he doesn’t bother to be gentle with it, just tossing it behind him somewhere.

There are more important things, after all. Namely, Yennefer standing in front of him looking like a goddess. His hands land at her waist again, fingers pressing lightly into her skin. They skate up, until his fingers just flirt at the edge of her breasts, the soft swell of them incredibly tempting.

But he waits. She quirks a brow, and he just inclines his head.

“Go on,” she says, and he hums as he does so, gently cupping her breasts in his hands, swiping gentle thumbs over her nipples as they begin to pebble. She gasps softly, head tipping back, so he does it again, using his grip to massage just slightly, enough to feel but not squeeze. After a moment of that, just gentle pressure and his thumbs teasing over the hard nubs of her nipples, he shifts, catching one nipple between two fingers to pull lightly as he ducks down and sucks the other into his mouth.

“Ah!” Yennefer’s hands fly up to his hair, and he pauses, but she just pulls him closer, so he continues with his ministrations, flicking his tongue against the nub while he twists softly against the other. He can feel the way Yennefer tenses, the way she’s trembling lightly, and grins as he trades sides. She grips his hair tight enough to hurt but doesn’t pull him back, just sighing out her pleasure above him.

He switches back and forth for a long few minutes, until Yennefer’s nipples are just slightly darker in color than before, swollen and sensitive. She shudders when he parts with a light flick of his tongue to both. It’s easy, where he’s slightly hunched, one hand on her breast and the other on her waist, to slide to his knees. The height isn’t perfect, but he’s done more complicated things; he drags one hand low to tease at the beginning of the curls between her legs, and the other goes to her knee, encouraging her to lift it and balance on his shoulder.

Still, even with her partially spread open, close enough he can feel the heat and smell her musk, he waits, looking up at her. She rolls her eyes and grabs at his hair with both hands to shove him forward, and he’s laughing as he goes. The first flick of his tongue it nothing more than a tease, meant to rile her up, and it works. She makes a low, frustrated sound and hitches her hips into his face, burying his nose at the very top of her slit and forcing his mouth against her folds.

He grins into the treatment and goes at it, long, deep licks alternating with little teasing flicks, circling her entrance before sliding up to suck gently at her clit where it’s swollen. Her hips jerk again, more in surprise this time, and he sucks a little harder, sliding his hand up her thigh until he can drag his fingers over her folds as well.

“ _Jaskier,_ ” she gasps above him, and he tips his head back just slightly so he can see up the line of her body. Her hair has fallen forward in a curtain, sweeping in loose curls over her shoulder and arm, her breast. Her eyes are dark and wide, and he grins unto her cunt, flicking his tongue against her clit before licking back down. He sucks gently at her labia, heedless of the tickle of hair, and then teases at her entrance with fingers and tongue both.

She’s soaking wet, practically dripping down his wrist, and it makes him shudder, his cock throbbing. He’s probably dripping his own puddle onto the floor, but that’s hardly his concern right now. One finger slides in with ease, and she clenches down on it deliciously, making a quiet, breathless noise above him. He teases along her labia with his tongue some more, and then starts to move, gently fucking that finger in and out, feeling the way she trembles around him.

It’s not long before she’s demanding more. “Another,” she bites out, and when Jaskier looks up again her eyes are wild, her hair even wilder, tangled where she’s clearly been trying to keep it clear of her face.

He obeys the order, sliding a second finger inside the tight clench of her body, and she shudders so hard he slides his other hand up to grasp at her hip, pulling her closer so that if she loses her knees, he’ll be able to catch her. Her hands in his hair tighten, making him moan right into her cunt, and her legs wobble a little. He hooks his fingers, tilting his wrist on the next thrust in, and Yennefer _squeaks._

“Jaskier,” she says again, low and drawn out, breathless. “ _Oh._ ”

The rhythmic clenching of her cunt and her hands is the only warning he gets before she shatters, making a pitchy noise and shuddering so hard he has to wrap his arm around her ass to keep her upright. He doesn’t stop moving, though, rubbing forward against her spasming walls and sucking sharply on her clit. She makes another high noise, almost startled, and slick gushes from her, soaking his face and his hand and probably the floor.

“Ah, ah, _fuck,_ ” she pants, softly. “Jaskier, _oh._ ”

Slowly, he backs off, leaving her with a filthy kiss to her clit. She stumbles back from him, turning to the side so she can sit on the edge of the bed, and he just makes a show of licking his fingers clean. She sucks in a sharp breath and he smirks, but it falters when he hears Geralt growl.

He’d entirely forgotten that the Witcher was watching. In a moment of boldness, Jaskier rises to his feet and steps over to him, reaching through the gaps in the muzzle to paint Yennefer’s slick over the Witcher’s lips.

Geralt growls again. Jaskier grins wickedly.

When he turns back to Yennefer, she’s laid out on the bed on her side, propped up on an elbow to watch. She’s got her own wicked smile on, and she crooks a finger at him. He goes as if he’s pulled by a string. It’s easy to crawl onto the bed, to settle over her, to let her wrap long, smooth legs around his hips.

He ducks close and runs his nose over her cheek, lips brushing in a mockery of a kiss. “Want more?” he asks, one hand sliding down her belly to where she’s still slick and swollen. She makes a soft noise and rolls her hips up, forcing his fingertips just between her folds. He chuckles and finally kisses her for real, deep and wet but quick before he’s sliding down the bed to nestle his face between her thighs again.

This time he takes a moment to look, spreading her open and admiring the sight, the swollen bud of her clit and the dark pink of her folds. He teases fingers over her, tickling around her entrance and pinching gently at the hood of her clit until she whines, hips jerking.

“Now who’s excitable,” he teases, but he ducks forward and licks a wide stripe from her entrance to her clit, then goes back down, sucking her labia into his mouth and using light, gentle scrapes of teeth to make her thighs shake. Her hands sink into his hair again and she groans, pulling and yanking until he’s where she wants.

He stills and lets her ride his face, groaning against the heat of her, flicking his tongue out against her clit or pushing it just inside her when he can. She’s clearly enjoying herself, soft little noises spilling out between heaving breaths, and her hands flex in his hair each time she grinds just right.

This time when she comes it’s almost slow, a sudden tightening of her hands and thighs and then total relaxation as it rolls through her. He licks up the mess she makes of herself, flirting around the edge of her clit just to tease until she swats at him.

He sits up and wipes a hand across his face. Yennefer’s hair is a messy halo around her head and her lips are swollen, bitten dark to match the flush spilling down her throat and chest. Her eyes are hazy and wide but still full of lust. He crawls back up over her, letting her pull him into a lazily vicious kiss as he mindlessly ruts his cock against her hip.

“Fuck me, bard,” she says, voice rough, when the kiss breaks. Jaskier shudders and catches another series of slow kisses before he leans up a little to guide his cock. “Ah, fuck, _Yennefer._ ”

“Yeah,” she sighs, tipping her head back as she slings her arms loosely around his neck. “Fuck, yeah, just like that.”

He goes slowly, as slowly as he can make himself, less for Yennefer’s sake and more for his own. She’s hot and tight and slick and he refuses to embarrass himself by coming too early.

Sunk to the hilt, he stops for a moment, panting as he leans down to mouth at her throat. Her head is pressed back against the pillows and she’s murmuring, soft, wordless noise as she clenches around him.

“Fuck, you feel better than I expected,” she finally breathes. “Move.”

“Glad to exceed expectations,” he laughs, shifting back a little and then rolling his hips, more of a grind than a thrust, but the motion makes Yennefer gasp and dig sharp nails into the nape of his neck, so he does it again, and again. The feeling of her shuddering around all of him, from his neck to his thighs and especially his cock, is near overwhelming.

Eventually, he goes to start thrusting properly, but her calves wrapped around his thighs stop him. He grunts and keeps up the grinding, practically sunk to the hilt in her at all times, and she keens softly.

“Yes, yes,” she pants, head thrashing a little. “Fuck, yes, Jaskier.”

He groans lowly. “You like being full, hm?” It’s a question that’s not a question. “Tell me, are the rumors about Witchers true?” He glances over to Geralt, where the Witcher is straining against his bonds, eyes wild, and smirks. “Can he fill you up like you want to be?”

Yennefer whimpers, hips jerking. Jaskier moves one hand down to press over her pubic mound, pushing his thumb through her slit to rest lightly on her clit. She whimpers again, a little more desperately this time, and looks up at him with wide, glassy eyes.

“Yeah,” she pants. “ _Fuck._ ”

Jaskier pushes a little deeper and swivels his hips, rubbing a slow circle with his thumb as he presses down with his hand, and Yennefer shouts, leg kicking slightly. “Am I enough for you? Make you feel full enough?”

She thrashes her head for a moment before gasping, “Yeah, yeah, _fuck,_ more.”

“Good.” He rubs harder with his thumb and goes back to the previous grinding, eyes fluttering each time she clenches down around him like a vice. A thought drifts into his mind unbidden, and he thinks for a moment that he shouldn’t, it’s too much, but then it’s pouring out of his mouth like smoke.

“You know, you never know if any of your cures are going to work,” he says, tone stunningly casual for the way his heart rate spikes. “You’d never find out with Geralt. But if I fuck you full like you clearly want….”

Yennefer blinks up at him, confused for a split second before his meaning hits her and her eyes go wide as saucers. Jaskier chooses that moment to rub rapid little circles over her clit and she comes, sudden and sharp, eyes squeezing shut as tight as the rest of her, cunt and thighs drawing him in until he’s trapped.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” he mutters, ducking close to mouth over her throat while she rides the wave, whimpering the whole time. “Want that?” he asks, dragging the edge of his teeth along the shell of her ear. “Want me to fuck you so full of my spend you’ll be round with it? Could knock you up, let Geralt keep you full but it’d be _my_ child.”

“Jaskier, _Jaskier,_ ” Yennefer’s whining, high and broken, and her nails score lines of fire down his back. “More, more, _fuck._ ”

This time when he pulls back to thrust she doesn’t stop him, just throws her head back and cries out for it, hips tilting up. He doesn’t bother with slow or gentle, one hand still low on her hips so he can tease at her clit. When she arches up closer he moves from mouthing at her throat to her breasts, sucking harshly at her nipples and leaving light hickeys around her areola.

“Imagine it,” he says, a little slurred around Yennefer’s breast in his mouth. “Getting all round and heavy with me, breasts sore and leaking.” He gives a pointed suck to the nipple he’s tonguing at. “Have to have us suck on them to relieve the pressure, fill you even more full while we do it, keep you exactly as full as you want. Knock you up again immediately after the first one, hm? Give you as many as you want, as _much_ as you want.”

He’s teetering close to the edge and so is she, if he’s reading the wild trembling in her belly and thighs correctly. He rubs at her clit again, almost frictionless with how wet she is, and moves his hips a little faster. “Come on,” he mumbles, scraping gentle teeth over her nipple. “Come on my cock, let me fill you up like you deserve.”

“ _Jaskier,_ ” she whines, one hand sinking into his hair to pull him into a kiss, vicious and messy. He gives as good as he gets, sucking on her tongue and nibbling at her lip until it swells even further.

Her orgasm pulls him down with her, his self-control no match for her tight cunt and wanton moans. “Ah, fuck,” he hisses, burying his face against her throat as he comes, short, sharp thrusts fucking the mess into her. “Yeah, _yeah._ ”

They come down together, shaking and panting. There’s a massive wet spot on the sheets and they’re both covered in rapidly cooling sweat, but Jaskier feels _fantastic._ He trails messy kisses up Yennefer’s throat, along her jaw, and she lets him kiss her, soft and deep.

When their eyes meet, hers are still wild and a little glassy, and he chuckles. “Want more, hm?” he asks, only lightly teasing, and she makes a short, rough noise.

“Should we untie him?” he asks, tipping his head toward Geralt. “Let him fill you full until I can go again, yeah?”

Yennefer bites her lip and turns her head to look at Geralt. Jaskier does the same. The Witcher is still straining against his bonds, erection near purple and standing straight up against his belly. His eyes are wide, black with how big his pupils are, and he’s growling, low and quiet. She hums.

“Keep the muzzle,” she says, and Jaskier laughs as he stumbles off the bed.

“Absolutely.”


End file.
